


Kiss Me, You Animal

by dear_monday



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Killjoys, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dear_monday/pseuds/dear_monday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It totally wasn't his fault, okay? Frank would like that on record. Because it wasn't. An exploration of the complex dynamic between... oh, sod it. This is SHAMELESS KILLJOY PORN. \o/</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me, You Animal

It totally wasn't his fault, okay? Frank would like that on record. Because it _wasn't_. He's not Gerard, who's more than happy to sit up all night, all on his own, just... thinking, or doing whatever the fuck it is that he does all night when he doesn't feel like sleeping. It's hard on him; the responsibility wears him down, and being Party Poison all the time is a strain. Underneath the plastic mask and the layers of grease and sweat and motor oil and the asshole act, Gerard's still got that whole introverted, artistic thing going on, which Frank totally respects but can't really pull off himself. He tried it once, waiting for _his_ epiphany or at least a vision of glory or something, and lasted about half an hour before declaring himself bored out of his skull.  
   
Whatever. Essentially, what it comes down to is that at night, Gerard gets all introspective and tragically insomniatic and Frank's just restless and easily bored.  
   
With a huff of irritation, Frank rolls off his rickety, uncomfortable cot and pads silently (filthy socks instead of bare feet, because those spiders get fucking _everywhere_ , seriously) down the darkened hall to Gerard's room. The door's just an inch or two open, spilling light into the corridor. Frank hesitates, conflicted. If Gerard's up, he leaves the door open, like an invitation. If he's asleep, he turns the fucking light off.  
   
Knowing Gerard, thinks Frank wryly, this is probably some kind of grand statement about the dichotomy of good and evil and its manifestation in this fucked-up semi-apocalypse thing they've found themselves in. A door is never just a door, even when it's ajar.  
   
But there's still something that stops him just walking right in there. Unconsciously adopting his best stealthy sneaking, he crosses the few remaining feet between himself and the door, then stops dead.  
   
What he can see of the picture laid out on the other side of the door hits him square in the chest, and he sort of forgets to breathe – because, seriously, Jesus fucking _Christ_.  
   
Gerard's right on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, one hand curled around his cock while the other hand tenses convulsively beside him in the thin, dirty sheet. His head is bowed slightly, streaks of obnoxious red falling in front of his eyes as his breathing comes fast and ragged. His rhythm falters and he kicks those ridiculously tight jeans past his ankles, then a quick, rough twist of his wrist makes his breath hitch deafeningly in the heavy, stifling quiet. Frank's kind of forgotten he even exists as he stands there behind the door, feeling every bitten-off gasp go straight to his dick and vaguely thinking that this is sleazy and _so_ wrong and also possibly the single hottest thing he's ever seen. Living like this, they've all seen each other undressed plenty of times and it's usually no big deal, but this is _different_. Frank's brain has narrowed right down to one track, and the thought that he should leave _now_ stirs uneasily in the back of his mind but doesn't quite register properly.  
   
Gerard starts to work his hand faster, brushing his thumb over the slit and running pre-come over his length. He bites his lip and tips his head back, eyes closed and lips parted as his free hand twists in the sheets, and, fuck, _definitely_ the hottest thing Frank's ever seen. Without thinking or looking away, Frank snakes a hand down to his crotch and begins to palm his own growing hard-on, biting back a groan of _oh-fuck-yes-this-forever._ A faint sheen of sweat covers Gerard's pale chest as it rises and falls erratically and a thin keening noise escapes him; he's close, and Frank's glad he's keeping a lid on the noises so as not to wake the others, because just the _thought_ of the sounds he'd be making otherwise is nearly enough to have Frank coming in his pants on the spot.  
   
A sharp intake of breath as Gerard begins to rock his hips against his hand directs Frank's attention right back to Gerard. He's now way past the point of denying that he's getting off on watching another dude getting off, because, really, he totally _is_. Years ago, in another life, this might have bothered him, but now? These days, you just take what you can get, and if it's not what you're into, well, it's most likely all there is.  
   
But this? Frank could totally get on board with this. He chokes back a low, shameless moan of his own as he watches, because there's just something about this grimy little scene in this grimy little room that's getting under his skin like nothing else has done in years. Maybe it's got something to do with seeing Gerard, the great and terrible Party Poison – rebel leader and professional hell-raiser – so _vulnerable_ , but Frank doesn't know and honestly couldn't give a shit right now.What matters is that it's _Gerard_ , and that he's right _there_ , looking debauched and gorgeously wrecked and _ohgodsofuckinggood_ as he gets himself off. There's an increasingly persistent part of Frank that _wants_ ; wants it to be _his_ hands wringing those noises out of Gerard, wants to pin him down and fuck him right through the thin mattress, wants to push that fucking stupid hair off his face just to see what he looks like when he comes. Frank's jeans are now painfully tight over his cock and he squirms, trying to adjust them without taking his eyes off Gerard or alerting him to his presence here. Fuck, he needs more friction than this, and _soon_.  
   
He's still utterly transfixed when Gerard's hips buck involuntarily into his hand and he stifles a moan, come spattering over his hand and stomach and thighs. He slumps forward, breathing hard, damp strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Frank suddenly snaps to his senses, realisation of what's just happened hitting him hard. What the fuck is he _doing?_ When you accidentally catch a friend jacking off, you don't _stay and watch_ , for crying out loud, much less start joining in. It's not the fact that it's _Gerard_ having this effect on him that bothers him – Frank's never really thought about him like this before, but, hey, now's as good a time as any to start, and he can roll with it. No, what's making him uneasy is the fucking _ethical issues_ of the situation, of all the ridiculous things. Tingling with a combination of relief that he wasn't caught in the act and vague disgust at his own dubious moral standards, he slips back to his own room.  
   
So, yeah, he's less than comfortable with his only-slightly-accidental invasion of Gerard's privacy. But it's not even _nearly_ enough to stop him closing his door firmly behind him, fumbling desperately with his jeans, wrapping a hot, sticky hand around himself and coming in less than a minute with a name caught between his lips.  
   
   
   
The next morning, Frank wakes up with morning wood and his head still full of dirty dreams, so it's maybe not surprising that Gerard's voice issuing from the diner's main room stops him in his tracks when he makes his way there for breakfast some time later. He pauses outside the door, quelling the déjà vu, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. _Get your shit together_ , he tells himself sternly. It's not like Gerard _saw_ him last night, and he's sure as hell going to notice if Frank's acting weird this morning. He notices _everything_ ; that's how he's kept them all alive for this long. Yup, Frank can do this. No big deal _at all_. He wipes his face clean of anything that might be at all suggestive of _oh, by the way, I saw you jerking off last night, and I thought it was kind of really fucking hot_ , and goes through.  
   
Things don't improve. As Frank slides into the only empty seat in the booth (opposite Gerard, naturally, what the fuck), Gerard cuts him a toothy little smile. There's nothing at all out of the ordinary about it, but for a mad, terrifying moment, Frank could swear it's a _knowing_ smile. Shit, Gerard's paranoia really is starting to rub off on him. And, fuck fuck _fuck_ , _rub off_ was _really_ not the right phraseto use because now he's thinking about it again _this is utterly not good in any way_. Frank suppresses a bubble of slightly hysterical laughter and tries desperately to maintain some semblance of a poker face.  
   
Eventually, though, he starts to breathe a little easier. He can't honestly say Gerard's acting any differently to how he normally does. He's just... him. Cool as a motherfucking cucumber, not that there are any actual cucumbers to use for comparison purposes anymore. _And why shouldn't he be?_ , Frank's brain reminds him. _He_ isn't the one who's a _giant fucking creeper_ , for fuck's sake _._ Blood rises to Frank's cheeks and he takes another mouthful of the revolting kibble. Gerard eyes him with detached curiosity, one eyebrow raised sceptically.  
   
"Hey, Ghoul? You alright?"  
   
That gets Frank's attention. Gerard's got a bit of a thing about using their real names out loud, even here. It serves as a nice reminder to Frank that he needs to keep his wits about him.  
   
"Me? Shiny. Business as usual, right?" he says easily, with his best shit-eating grin. Gerard looks reassured, and Frank inwardly congratulates himself on his smoothness.  
   
He gets about three-quarters of the way through his can of power pup before he gives up. He doesn't care about the _nutritional content_ or whatever they use to sell that shit to people, it's easily the second or third most disgusting thing he's ever had in his mouth. He throws the recyclable plastic spork down with a grimace, wiping his mouth, and the others offer sympathetic nods of recognition. Well, at least he feels a bit less twitchy now – say what you like about it, but that stuff's an instant boner-kill, and he's starting to think he's got away with it after all. He slides out of his seat, stretching like a cat, and his shirt rides up a little, exposing a strip of his stomach.  
   
He completely misses the way Gerard's eyes linger on the trail of hair running down his navel.  
   
"I'm going out to the garage," he announces to no one in particular. "See if I can't fix that sticky gear on the car."  
   
Ray nods thoughtfully. "Alright. Me and Mi– uh, Kobra were gonna go and see Tommy Chow Mein later about that diesel, but we can take the bikes."  
   
"Awesome. That'll get them out of my way, you know how there's never any fucking space in there."  
   
Gerard beams, flashing small, white teeth, and Frank has to look away. "Aw, look at you lot, acting all grown up. Warms my heart, it really does."  
   
Mikey rolls his eyes and flips him off. "And what are _you_ going to be doing today, asshole?"  
   
Gerard smiles mysteriously. "Something _very_ important," he says, then sits back, folding his arms and smirking like nobody's business.  
   
Frank's unease kicks back in with a vengeance. He decides to quit while he's ahead and, more importantly, before Gerard can pick up on it.  
   
   
   
As soon as he gets into the garage, he relaxes. This is easy. He can fix the fucking car; he always can. This is just what he needs – something to take his mind off Gerard. A tidy little problem to solve. And he can't say there isn't satisfaction in the job, either; he likes the feeling of being up to his elbows in steel and rubber and motor oil, of forgetting yourself so completely that you're just a breath away from being part of the machine.  
   
This isn't a sentiment he's ever voiced. He'd like to keep what dignity he has left intact, thank you very much.  
   
He walks over to the car and trails a finger lightly along the paintwork. "What's that fucker done to you this time, hmm?" he murmurs, as he opens the door and scrutinises the offending gearstick. He tuts; Gerard never did grasp the correlation between him driving the thing like a madman and some other crucial part of the car falling off or just flatly refusing to work.  
   
He can fix it, though. It's what he does.  
   
He digs out a wrench from under the pile of old gig flyers that Gerard hoards so obsessively, and sets to work. Mikey and Ray appear several minutes later and leave again on the bikes, but by then Frank's so absorbed he barely notices them go.  
   
   
   
It's nothing too serious this time, and about an hour later, Frank steps back with a satisfied expression. That's muchbetter, but he really is going to have to have a word with Gerard about taking better care of it, or this is only going to happen again a week from now. Only now there's nothing left to distract him, and at the name, Frank's mind shoves slew of images at him, any one of which could have come from a porno centrefold. Fucking Gerard, with his stupid face and his stupid painter's hands and –  
   
He pushes Gerard firmly from his mind. He needs to stop obsessing over this _now._ Sitting down on the rough concrete floor, he wipes his forehead on his sleeve. The garage isn't usually too bad, but it's hot as hell today and he's sweating like a pig. He _hates_ that; he never liked missing showers, and it's even worse now they've got to think about every fucking drop of water they use. He could kill for a nice cold beer right about now, actually. He can practically _see_ it, sitting on one of the diner’s tables, little beads of slick condensation running down the glass.  
   
He licks his lips. Beer. Definitely. He thinks there are still a couple left from that crate they traded from the last Fuck You house they stopped by, so he stands up, meaning to go and look in the fridge.  
   
But before he can get anywhere, a pair of arms wrap themselves around his waist from behind and there's suddenly a warm mouth _right next to his ear_. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Frank wills himself not to tense up; Gerard's always been the kind of tactile and touchy-feely that just can't keep its hands to itself. _This doesn't mean anything_ , he tells himself frantically, but he can feel his heart kicking.  
   
"Hey, Frankie," Gerard purrs, drawing the words out, low and dirty and laden with I-know-something-you-don't-know. Frank stiffens, because, _fuck_ , Gerard's using his real name and everything and this _really can't be good_.  
   
Frank swallows. "Uh. Hey?"  
   
"So..." He stretches the word over three syllables, _so-o-oh_ , and Frank can hear him smirking. He trails off, and Frank opens his mouth to formulate some kind of witty response, but Gerard's all up in his personal space, crowding him and making it hard to think straight and _ohfuck_ pressing his hips against Frank in a way that makes his brain shut down completely. His voice drops to a whisper, rough and four-letter-filthy, and the pit of Frank's stomach tightens.  
   
"Liked what you saw, huh?"  
   
Frank's first instinct is to deny everything, but the way Gerard is properly, unashamedly _grinding_ up against him seems to have short-circuited his ability to string words together coherently.  
   
"Dunno what you're–" he begins, but suddenly Gerard's hand is working at the button of his jeans, fingers straying teasingly lightly over his crotch, and Frank makes a choked noise that sounds something like _hnnngh_.  
   
"You can tell me," croons Gerard in his ear. His hand stops moving, splayed against Frank's hip, fingers edging under his shirt to brush against his bare skin and Frank could _cry_ with frustration. "I didn't mind, you know. Thinking about you standing right _there_ , watching me? Hearing _everything?_ " A breathy chuckle sends shivers crawling over every inch of Frank's skin. "Not gonna lie, Frankie, it was pretty fucking hot."  
   
Frank really couldcry, this isn't _fair_. Last night was his lightbulb moment; he _wants_ this too much now and he knows it, and for all that, it's probably just Gerard fucking around, playing his stupid mind games again.  
   
"But you know what was even _better_?" (Frank's barely listening now, because Gerard's hands are working tortuously slowly on his zipper now, and he knows he won't last long if he listens too hard to the litany of filth being poured into his ear) "Knowing how much _you_ were getting off on it. Knowing you _wanted_ this."  
   
Frank whimpers helplessly, pushing his hips forward, already hard and aching for the contact. He realises his super-top-secret dirty talk kink really _must_ be visible from space; he's _positive_ he's never mentioned it. "And there I was," he gasps out, already panting and breathless, "Feeling bad for _spying_ on you, you fucker. You _planned_ this?"  
   
He's well aware that his feigned indignation isn't up to much, given the way he's desperately arching his hips into Gerard's hands. He's about two and a half seconds away from honest-to-god begging, and he knows that Gerard knows it. This is _humiliating_ ; Gerard's hardly touched him and he's a mess already. It's beentoo long since he's had someone else's hands on him and Gerard is too much, too hot, too fast.  
   
"Didn't really _plan_ it. I mean, you were just _there_ , and... I went with it, you know?"  
   
Frank wants to turn around and smack him upside the head for being a fucking tease, but Gerard stills for a moment behind him and Frank can feel him pressed up against his back, hot and hard inside his jeans, and all Frank's breath leaves his lungs in a rush. " _Want_ ," he moans before he can stop himself and Gerard dips his head to mouth at his neck, leaving Frank gasping and squirming against him.  
   
"Want what, baby?" he murmurs, licking along Frank's jawline.  
   
"You. Anything. Whatever. Just, fucking _now_ ," he grits out. Gerard spins him round and pulls their mouths together in a deep, dirty, open-mouthed kiss, knotting his fingers in Frank's hair and _pulling_ , hard and demanding. Frank lets out an embarrassingly loud moan and presses himself flush against Gerard, because, Jesus fuck, the man kisses like a goddamn porn star.  
   
"Tell me what you _want_ ," he growls against Frank's mouth, biting down on his lower lip and eliciting a high, hitchy noise.  
   
"You fuckin' _animal_ ," huffs Frank, surprised. This dominant side is Party Poison, not Gerard, but Frank isn't complaining.  
   
"You love it. Now..." He grins a sly, feral grin, edging a thigh between Frank's and watching his eyes darken. Frank's dimly aware that he's part of some sort of game here, but he doesn't know what the rules are or even what they're playing for. "Up against the wall?" he kisses down Frank's neck, snaking one hand around his back and closing the remaining gap between them before pulling off to eye him thoughtfully, head on one side. "Or maybe I should just drag you upstairs to bed. What d'you think?"  
   
"You really think... we'd make it – ohh, mother _fucker_ – all the way upstairs?"  
   
Frank's brain is still struggling to comprehend exactly what the fuck is happening, but under the circumstances (i.e. Gerard doing his damndest to stop Frank thinking about anything but _hands_ and _mouth_ and _ohfuckyes_ ), that Frank even manages that fragmented sentence is an achievement. He's given up on working out what the fuck's going on in favour of just going with it, because, really, after a certain length of time, sex with an _actual person_ instead of just your hand starts to sound pretty good, no matter who they are or what their motives may be. He feels Gerard's mouth curling into an evil smile.  
   
"Ohh, shouldn't have said that, Frankie. Know what I heard? A _challenge_."  
   
And suddenly, Gerard's mouth is gone and then there's a hot hand around Frank's, hauling him towards the door.  
   
To their credit, they get up the stairs and nearly all the way to Gerard's room, but just outside the door, Frank stops and slams Gerard against the wall for a sloppy, bruising kiss that's all tongues and teeth, his fingers digging into Gerard's shirt.  
   
"Playing rough, Frankie?" Gerard teases, as soon as they come apart for air, but Frank's gratified to hear the rough edge in his voice. " _Very_ good. Gonna get me back for messing with you, huh?"  
   
"Gonna give you everything you deserve," Frank retorts jokingly, nipping at Gerard's lip. Two can play at that game, after all. But Gerard goes very still, drawing in a deep, shaky breath, eyes darker than Frank's ever seen them.  
   
"Gonna fuck me, Frankie?"  
   
Frank freezes too. He's only aware of that line in the sand now it's much too late. That fucker has been well and truly crossed, in a permanent, no-going-back sort of way. The silence hangs for a second, and there's nothing but the sound of their breathing, rough and ragged.  
   
Frank swallows, because, _fuck_. He can practically see Gerard spread out underneath him, beautiful and dirty and wanting and just _him_ , and it's fucking hot. "You want me to?" He asks, voice unsteady.  
   
Gerard nods, quick and wordless and very, very sure. This time, it's Frank who grabs him and pulls him through the door, pushing him down onto the bed and kissing him like he's starving, straddling his hips and moving slowly against him, needing the friction.  
   
Gerard huffs a laugh. "God, you fucking want this, don't you?" he murmurs, hissing under his breath as Frank's hands slip under his shirt, callused fingers playing over his nipples.  
   
"What makes you think that?" Frank's grinning, and Gerard starts pulling at his damp T-shirt. Frank takes the hint, pulling away for a second to sit up and wrangle his shirt over his head. His hands are shaking as he sets to work on Gerard's ancient, sweat-stained band tee, but after a few minutes of clumsy, uncoordinated scrabbling and fingers tangled in sweaty cotton and denim, they're skin-on-skin and it's fucking _perfect_. He goes for the zipper of Gerard's jeans next, which are trickier. It's probably a good thing no one really bothers with underwear anymore.  
   
"Wouldn't fuckin' kill you to wear pants that actually _fit_ ," Frank mutters, struggling to work the skin-tight, dust-caked denim down over Gerard's thighs.  
   
"Fuck you, you didn't complain when you were staring at my ass in these things," retorts Gerard, grinning and breathless, running a hand through Frank's hair.  
   
"Point," Frank concedes, finally succeeding and shoving the discarded jeans onto the floor. With a noise of impatience, Gerard goes for Frank's, already undone, and tugs them down over Frank's hips before Frank's quite processed what's happened. Gerard pulls him back in for a clumsy, searing kiss, slipping his tongue past Frank's parted lips and revelling in the positively sinful noise Frank makes in response. Frank skims his fingers down Gerard's ribs and across the pale jut of his hipbone, and Gerard practically fucking _writhes_ underneath him.  
   
"Oh – fuckin'... You don't even know how long – I've wanted – " he breaks off with a breathy whimper of surprise as Frank brushes a finger across his entrance, but it's somehow not quite enough and Frank grins, mind too scrambled to contemplate the implications of Gerard's babbling.  
   
"They aren't gonna be back for hours, you know, you don't have to worry about being quiet."  
   
"Force of habit," Gerard drawls, but his voice breaks on the last word as Frank begins to edge a spit-slicked finger inside him. "Oh my fucking _God_ , Frank. _Oh_ – "  
   
"Lube?" There's a pleading urgency in Frank's voice, but Gerard shakes his head, trailing a finger maddeningly down over Frank's stomach.  
   
"None left. Don't know if you noticed, but it's kind of a bitch to find out here."  
   
Frank forges through the haze of want fogging his brain and attempts to re-connect to the concept of logic and whatever passes for bedroom etiquette these days. This whole situation's so ridiculous he's got no fucking clue what's expected of him. "Right. Well, uh... rubber?" It seems ridiculous, but he still feels like he should at least ask.  
   
A ripple of amusement thrums through Gerard's chest. "Nope." He pops the P, smirking. "fresh out of them, too. You have any idea who you've gotta blow to get a hold of those things these days?" He grabs a handful of Frank's hair and pulls him down towards him, kissing slow and hot then leaning up to whisper against his ear. "I trust you."  
   
Frank has to close his eyes for a second to scrape together a few shreds of composure, because, Christ, Gerard's voice just _does_ things to him, and he's about ten seconds away from doing something _really_ embarrassing. He doesn't know what game Gerard's playing here, but he figures he might as well enjoy it. He sucks a finger into his mouth and Gerard draws a sharp breath, his eyes fixated on Frank's mouth. One of his hands starts to edge towards his cock, but Frank swats it away, grinning. No reason why Gerard should get to have all the fun, after all.  
   
"Uh uh. You wanted me to fuck you? That's what you're getting."  
   
"Then hurry up and fuckin' – " this time, he interrupts himself with a desperate mewling noise as Frank slides another finger in. He rocks against Frank's hand, biting down on his lip, breathless and so stupidly fucking hot that Frank's mind goes completely blank for a second.  
   
"What were you thinking about? The other night?" he breathes into Gerard's ear, curious and turned on beyond _belief._ Hesinks his fingers a little deeper and Gerard moans, pushing shamelessly down onto him.  
   
"This. You. What you'd feel like..." He pauses, curling a hand around the back of Frank's neck and licking into his mouth. "What you'd – oh, fuck, _more_ – taste like. About you watching me, just on the other side of the door. Wondered how you like to fuck, whether you'd take your time or whether you'd push..." He goes for his usual I-couldn't-give-a-shit nonchalance, but his voice shakes tellingly.  
   
Frank almost blacks out. " _Jesus_ ," he hisses, kissing and nipping at Gerard's throat, hoping to leave a mark that'll raise awkward questions. Serves him right, the fucker. "You have _no idea_ ," he murmurs, trying to keep the reverence out of his voice, "What you're doing to me right now." He adds a third finger, spreading Gerard open for him, and Gerard makes a noise so filthy and so fucking _loud_ that something small and nervous in the back of Frank's mind worries it'll bring the dracs running.  
   
"Know what I want _you_ to be doing to _me_ right now, though." Gerard cuts Frank the dirtiest of smiles and wraps a hand around Frank's cock, just in case there was any confusion about what he'd meant. Frank swallows, because, well, _fuck._ How is he supposed to argue with that? He withdraws his fingers slowly, and licks the palm of his hand. Slicking himself up as best he can, he lines himself up between Gerard's legs. He starts to push in, slowly at first, fingers curling around Gerard's hips, tight enough to bruise. Gerard makes the most amazing noise underneath him, a wrecked, desperate _ohhh_ , and Frank keeps pushing, using the scrap of self-control he's got left not to just slam in all at once.  
   
"Fuck, you're _tight_ – God, so hot, so fucking good, Gee..."  
   
Gerard answers with a low, drawn-out _unh_ , moving to match Frank's rhythm, pushing for more. "Fuckin' _move_ , Frank, I'm not gonna _break_. Wanna – _oh_ – wanna feel this for days."  
   
"God, such a _slut_ ," gasps Frank in retaliation, as the pit of his stomach drops, because _fuck_ , does Gerard know just how to push his buttons.  
   
"Only for you, babe." Gerard then proves Frank's point by making the loudest, most indecent noise he's capable of and wrapping his legs around Frank's waist. Frank starts to push harder, faster, until he's completely buried in Gerard, heat and pressure the fact that it's _Gerard_ slowly driving him insane. He pulls out a little way then thrusts back in, feeling himself getting closer. Gerard's hips buck reflexively under his hands and his low, soft noises get louder, rising almost to a scream when Frank hits his prostate.  
   
" _Oh!_ Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ Frank – oh my God, yes, there – _ohh_ – " his words start to blur together, eyes dark as Frank whines softly at the sight of Gerard writhing and shuddering under him. Such a mess, wrecked and sweaty and gorgeous and _his_.  
   
"Fucking amazing, god. Wish you could fuckin' see yourself right now," Franks murmurs, as Gerard moans with every thrust.  
   
"Oh, oh, _oh!_ Frank... Frank, come on, come on..." Gerard's making less and less sense, chanting nonsense into the hot, heavy air, hands grasping at Frank's wrists, damp fingers slipping.  
   
"Tell me," gasps Frank, feeling dirty and sleazy and fucking _loving_ it, because if Gerard gets to indulge his barely-repressed exhibitionist kink then Frank's allowed this. "Tell me you want it."  
   
Gerard complies. "Want it, fuck," he pants, clenching deliciously around Frank and drawing an ecstatic _ohh_ from deep in Frank's chest. "Want your – oh Jesus _fuck_ , do that again! So close, fuck, gonna – "  
   
"Come on," Frank curls his fingers around Gerard's cock, hard and straining between them, matching the rhythm of his hips. "'S right, Gee, come for me..."  
   
Gerard comes with a wordless, desperate cry that's loud enough to shake the rafters, coating their stomachs and gasping for breath. He doesn't look pure or angelic or any of that shit; he's tangled and undone and fucked-out and just _him_.Frank can feel his own orgasm building, so he doesn't stop, fucking harder-faster-deeper until it hits, and he comes so hard his vision bleeds white. He rides out the aftershocks, feeling Gerard's eyes on him the whole time, watching him hungrily.  
   
Well. That's only fair, he figures.


End file.
